


leave a scar

by inkk



Category: Bandom, Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Burnplay, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Hand & Finger Kink, Humiliation, I wish I was kidding, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Painplay, Sexual Fantasy, So Much Dirty Talk, Teasing, a priest sat down next to me while i was writing this in an airport, cigarette burns, slut shaming (consensual), Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 21:32:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15849780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkk/pseuds/inkk
Summary: Trent fishes a cheap lighter and a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his discarded jacket, passes them to Brian and says, “I want you to burn me.”Brian looks down at the unassuming red carton in his right hand and says, “What?”Trent shrugs. “Yeah.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “I want to you put ‘em out on my skin.”





	leave a scar

**Author's Note:**

> set december 1, 1994, during the Self Destruct tour. the date and location of the show are pulled from reality, but obvs everything else is totally made up and in complete disregard of canon (ah yes, my specialty). title from the manson song.  
> um, fair warning, this is definitely the heaviest pwp thing i’ve written to date. read at your own risk.  
> **everything is risk aware consensual kink, but there’s just a Lot of weird dirty talk and this one is very different from any of my other works, so…. yeah. don’t walk in blind, yknow?  
> -  
> anyways, considering you read the description and still clicked on this, i think i can safely say we’re all friends here. welcome to the sin pit! enjoy and please comment/leave kudos!
> 
> [перевод на русский](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8161978) (translation by [saderaladon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon))

_If you're not afraid of getting hurt_

 _Then I'm not afraid of how much I hurt you._

+

The request is simple, and without much grandeur: Trent fishes a cheap lighter and a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his discarded jacket, passes them to Brian and says, “I want you to burn me.”

Brian looks down at the unassuming red carton in his right hand and says, “What?”

Trent shrugs. “Yeah.” He takes a seat on the edge of the queen bed. “I want to you put ‘em out on my skin.”

It’s December second, and Brian’s sitting cross-legged on the middle of the mattress in some hotel room in Toronto at two in the morning while everyone else is out getting fucked up at some titty bar or something. He hasn’t even showered since the show earlier - he’d had time to ditch the tights and throw on a change of casual clothes backstage before they left the venue, but his black hair is still rank with dried sweat where it falls down over his shoulder blades.

“You don’t even smoke,” he says after a second.

“Not really, no. I just want to try this. Tonight, if you want. Now.”

“Oh.” Brian stares back at the composed, resolute look on his face for a second, then says, “Okay.”

Trent meets his gaze. “Okay?” he repeats.

“Sure. I mean, why not?”

He doesn’t see the harm. It’s really not even close to the most fucked-up thing they’ve experimented with so far (the incident with the corset and the chocolate cake comes to mind, but they’ve made a pact not to talk about that), and the fact that Trent is bringing this up while stone-cold sober means he genuinely wants to do it. There’s really no logical reason for Brian to turn him down. Not that he’ll generally ever consider declining any offer involving depraved sexual acts and/or Trent, but still; this could be interesting.

“So, how do you want to do this, then?” Brian finally asks, examining the box cradled in his palm. _du MAURIER_ , it says; some Canadian brand he’s never heard of.

Neither of them usually love having to go through the specifics of what they’re about to do - Trent out of some remaining aversion to discussing weird sex shit while sober; Brian out of a dislike for a lack of spontaneity - but it’s probably necessary for something of this calibre. Brian’s willing to kill the mood a little if it means not messing this up.

Trent’s shoulders rise an almost-imperceptible millimeter or two in discomfort. He keeps his tone casual when he says, “Thought you could start off fucking me first, and then... I don’t know, just go for it.”

“Marks?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. That’s kind of part of it. Just… I don’t know, leave ‘em on my thighs or my ass or something. I have a shitty little first aid kit for after.” Trent’s face remains carefully neutral, but his eyes look a little skittish. Embarrassment, maybe.

“How many?”

“Four, maybe five.” ( _Four, then._ )

“And is this… Like, is it specifically about the actual pain right now? Or do you want the domination?”

Trent rubs his face. “Both, probably. I don’t know. Can we just…” he waves a hand. Brian gives him a pointed look, plainly unsatisfied, and Trent rolls his eyes. “Jesus. Look, I’m saying I trust you, okay? We have the safeword if either of us wants to stop. You already know what I want better than I do, and I wouldn’t even bring this up if I didn’t know that you know what you’re doing, so.”

He still looks a bit shifty, but with an edge of impatience and more than a little determination. It’s clear that he’s definitely thought this through.

“Well,” Brian says, an amused quirk to his lips, “Alright, then.” He tosses the carton and lighter onto the sheets beside him. “But only ‘cause you know your sensual words of passionate romance get me all hot and bothered. Get naked, I’ll break the smoke alarm.”

As Trent sets about undressing, he gets up and heads for the hotel room closet.

They’re doing this.

In the end, it only takes a few hard jabs from the handle of the cheap wooden broom before the alarm’s plastic casing breaks, dangling lamely from the ceiling while Brian viciously assaults its viscera until he’s satisfied that it has been rendered useless. They’ll get fined by the hotel for sure, but he reasons it’ll be plenty worth it if they both get an orgasm out of this.

He sets the broom aside. By now, Trent has discarded his shirt and those disgusting boots, and he’s working his pants down his thighs. For half a second, Brian wishes he had kept on those stupidly tiny shorts with the metal garters he had worn earlier that night during the show.

(Another time.)

Brian snags the pack of cigarettes and rips the protective cellophane off with his teeth. A peek inside the box reveals the orange filters of twenty little cancer sticks, lined up into two neat rows. As a general rule, he doesn’t smoke cigarettes; he’s never been a regular smoker and finds the whole thing rather gross, but he figures he can suck it up for a little while and make this good for Trent. It’s not like he even has to actually smoke the whole thing.

“Where’d you put the lube?” Brian asks.

“Bag,” Trent directs, clumsily yanking the pants off his ankles and tossing them onto the carpet with a huff.

Brian quickly grabs the bottle as Trent is wiggling back on the bed, clad in only his black trunks as he props himself up on his forearms and spreads his legs a little.

“Condom?” Brian prompts further.

Trent shakes his head, and he returns to the bed. “Just get on with it, c’mon. Been thinking about this since Down In It.”

Oh, they’re _really_ doing this.

Brian feels practically contractually obligated to smirk as he sets the cigarettes, lighter and lube on the bedside table before situating himself on his knees between Trent’s legs. Brian loves it when he gets a little needy. “Yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Trent rolls his eyes, but his breathing catches the tiniest bit when Brian reaches up to trace a single, teasing fingertip along his lower stomach at the waistband of his underwear. The material is worn and comfortable, but the elastic makes a satisfying snap against Trent’s skin when he briefly hooks a finger under before letting go. The wiry muscles of his abdomen clench visibly. “Brian—“

“Been thinking about this, huh?” Brian says slowly. “During the show, with all those people watching you? Just thinking about what you were going to ask me to do tonight?”

“Yeah,” Trent admits, a little pained. They both know he loves it when Brian starts to get on a roll with the progressively-more-fucked-up dirty talk.

“Tell me,” Brian instructs; softly, but firm all the same.

He watches Trent’s eyes squeeze shut for a half-second and then he’s blinking up at the ceiling, eyes looking a little wild in the lamplight. He always does this at first - wanting to submit, but something initially holding him back from going pliant straight away. It’s their version of a little game.

Brian flicks his hipbone sharply. “Tell me,” he repeats.

Trent’s breathing hitches, and he blinks. “Thought about— About your goddamn stupid fucking fingers inside of me, your cock, just letting you do whatever you want to me, I don’t—“ he swallows.

Brian allows the grin to slide over his face. He’s really not putting up much of a fight tonight, then. It’s not often that Trent lets his composure get away from him so quickly before they’ve even started, so it’s safe to say he must be more desperate than he was letting on. _This’ll be fun._

“You’d let me do whatever I want?” Brian inquires, dark and teasing, dropping a hand to caress along the soft skin of Trent’s inner right thigh just underneath the leg seam of his underwear. It’s so easy to slip into the role of casual sadist that he’s being asked for right now.

“Fuck,” Trent says, rather eloquently. His pupils are wide. “Yeah. You could— Yeah.”

By now, Brian’s more than a little turned on himself. Although it admittedly doesn’t take much to get him going at any time, just seeing Trent like this never fails to have him half hard in five seconds flat without so much as being touched.

That’s around the time Brian decides to just completely let loose.

“You’d let me hold you down?” he asks, keeping his voice relatively conversational. “Let me fuck you into the mattress like a good boy? Let me just take whatever I want from you, over and over, until you’re crying?”

Trent nods, quick and jerky. “Yeah.”

“Maybe I’d be nice and let you come,” he muses. He sits back on his heels and takes a second to pull his own shirt off over his head. “Or maybe I’d just use you for myself and abandon you, like my own little fucktoy.” He drops the clothing aside. “Y’know, shove my dick down your throat, pinch your nose until you pass out and then leave you lying unconscious on the floor for housekeeping to find.”

A reedy moan emerges from Trent, who is looking back at him, wide-eyed in something akin to awe.

Brian leans in closer, their faces almost touching and long hair hanging down as he holds himself up with skinny arms on either side of Trent’s midsection. “You’re no better than one of those groupies,” Brian tells him quietly, tone controlled. “Just a fucking slut like the rest of them. What would they think if they saw you like this, huh? Spreading your legs and asking me to make it hurt?”

Trent makes a cut-off noise in the back of his throat. His legs twitch, thighs flexing where they’re splayed out with Brian in between, hips rocking up a half-inch into the air. “Shit,” he says weakly. “Always forget you’re such a fuckin’ tease.”

Brian trails one long finger down the smooth skin of his sternum and cocks his head to the side. “Hard not to be, when you’re looking so pretty right now.” He stops just at Trent’s waistband and traces a faint circle there. “I’m sure they’d all love to see you practically begging for it like this, wouldn’t they? So desperate you’re not even fighting back. Pretty little whore.”

Trent swallows hard at that, a tiny groan escaping as he rolls his hips again. “Fuck.”

As much fun as teasing is, Brian’s starting to feel a little desperate himself. His hand drifts down across the obscene bulge in Trent’s underwear, resting his palm there and squeezing lightly, grinding down a little. The fabric is already damp beneath his fingertips. He loves this; seeing Trent like this, needy and horny and coming apart because of _him_.

“Jesus fucking— Shit.” Trent’s words come out a little strangled. “Your hands.”

Brian hums. “What about my hands, doll?”

He shifts a little where he’s still hunched over on his knees, sliding his right hand over to splay wide against Trent’s hipbone, the left coming up to cover the other. Trent’s hips thrust up a little, experimentally seeking friction, but Brian just shakes his head and pushes him back down. “Talk to me first.”

It only takes a half-second of hesitation before Trent speaks. “Big,” he half-exhales, flustered. “Just— They’re so big, with those long, bony fucking fingers, I don’t know. Feel good up my ass. I love it when you… When you just touch me, like that, or hold me down. Makes me feel.” he cuts himself off. His eyes are scrunched closed, hands fisting in the sheets at his sides. “—Makes me feel like I’m not in control.”

At those words, Brian feels a little bit like someone is sending electric shocks down his spine. He’s really fighting to maintain his own equanimity here. Finally, he concedes; hooking the fingers of his left hand in the waistband of Trent’s black trunks, he gently taps Trent’s hip with his right hand, prompting him to obediently pull his legs up so Brian can slide them up and off; it’s a little awkward, maybe, but when Trent lowers his legs again he’s breathless and completely exposed in the most beautiful way.

“Fuck,” Brian says, throwing the underwear onto the carpet before returning to thumb at the crease of where Trent’s thigh starts to meet his groin and the crisp hairs there. He completely ignores Trent’s flushed cock and little, pleading whimper in favour of bending down to press his mouth to the skin of his ribs, ever-so-slowly kissing and licking over the expanse of his chest as Trent twitches beneath him. He’s vaguely aware that he’s skirting around the act a lot more than their usual five-minute backroom fucks, but carries on nonetheless. Trent smells kind of disgusting up close like this - sort of sour and raw, and his skin is hot and salty - but it’s nothing Brian hasn’t grown intimately acquainted with over the past few years of this profession. It’s familiar, and while it’s not exactly _nice_ , per se, he’s definitely getting some kind of weird enjoyment out of it. 

“Oh, Jesus, please—“

Ah, so they’ve reached the P-word. _That was quick._

Brian presses one more kiss to his solar plexus before looking up and meeting his eyes, finding Trent’s face flushed and dazed, a desperate, hazy look in his eyes as they lock into Brian’s.

“Should see yourself like this,” Brian tells him, voice low. “I haven’t even really touched you, but you look so wrecked already.” He drags his hand up and over Trent’s ribs, letting his nails bite in enough to leave faint pink stripes in their wake. “Wish I could take pictures of you like this, all spread out on the bed for me like my own personal whore.”

“Shit,” Trent halfway-groans. “I don’t— Jesus, Brian.”

“You wanna know what I would really do?”

Trent’s mouth drops open a little and he nods, head bobbing as his eyes flick back up to the ceiling.

“I’d love to make you come four or five times in a row,” Brian murmurs. “You’d be covered in your own mess, shaking and oversensitive and begging me to stop, but I’d keep playing with you until I got bored.” He licks his lips. “Maybe I’d hit you around a little. It would hurt, y’know - I’d be rough, so there’d be bruises and shit all over in the morning. You wouldn’t even be able to walk for the next week without feeling me.” His hands come up to drape back over Trent’s hipbones, just holding him still. “And then,” he purrs, “Once you were covered in come and blood and fucked out so bad you were almost unconscious, I’d take a couple pictures for later.”

Trent’s hands are white-knuckled where he’s gripping the bedding. “Please,” he says, deep voice reduced to a bare whisper. “Please, come on, fuck me.“

Brian’s so fucking hard right now, cock tenting painfully in his jeans, but he’s still hellbent on making tonight all about Trent’s fantasy fulfillment. Nevertheless, he exhales a breath and says, “Turn over. Hands and knees.”

Trent is quick to comply. Brian has to shuffle back to allow him room to flip himself onto all fours without getting whacked in the face, and takes the opportunity to stand up and shove his own pants and underwear off onto the floor.

When he looks back up, Trent is bent over on the bed, legs spread as he kneels with his head hanging down where he’s holding himself up on his forearms. The sight almost makes Brian do a double-take.

It’s not that it’s all that unusual for Trent to submit like this - because he does, quite often, and enjoys it rather a lot - but moreso the fact that he’s not fighting it right now. At all.

Usually, Brian has to coax and tease him for a long time in order to get him to this level of pliant obedience. He knows Trent loves being in this headspace, but Brian also knows that the control freak part of him still usually has a hard time allowing himself to slip into the role straight away. He generally starts off by being kind of snappish and a total brat until Brian gets his dick in.

Tonight, though, Trent is on his knees with his ass in the air, mop of black hair covering his face as he draws inhale after exhale, no unnecessary defensive wall in sight as he just helplessly waits for Brian to do— well, _something_. He’s shaking ever so slightly, but his cock is still completely hard where it hangs heavy between his legs. It’s quite the sight to behold.

Brian blinks and grabs the lube from the bedside table. His eyes briefly flick past the red cigarette carton: a casual little reminder that _yeah, that’s still in store_. He’s actually going to put a cigarette out on Trent Reznor’s skin. Honestly, Brian’s a little surprised at how this night is unfolding, but he’s really not complaining. Not when it comes to slightly insane sexual experiences he’ll probably later use as fodder for lyrics. (And masturbation. Copious amounts of masturbation.)

He climbs back onto the bed and shuffles up until he’s kneeling behind Trent on the mattress, keeping a carefully detached buffer of space between them even as the hand not holding the lube comes up to cup his ass. “Fuck,” he says, almost despite himself, and then follows it up with, “Christ, Reznor, you’re such a fucking slut. You put your ass in the air for anyone who asks?”

Trent’s left foot twitches against Brian’s knee and he makes an ungodly little whine.

Brian almost grins to himself as he keeps on talking. He’s hit the goldmine here. “Such a pretty little skank. You want it that bad, don’t you? You want a cock in your ass so bad you’d just let any random stranger fuck you, let them knock you around and fill you up?” He shifts his hand over a little to rub the dry pad of his thumb over Trent’s hole. “Or would you want ‘em lined up one after the other?”

Trent gives a little, involuntary flinch, and Brian withdraws his hand to uncap the lube and coat two of his fingers in a practiced motion.

“I’m sure you’d like that,” he steamrollers on as he spreads it over the digits. “You’re such a fuckin’ whore you wouldn’t even make ‘em wear condoms. You’d have jizz all over you, drying on your skin, dripping down the backs of your thighs, but they wouldn’t stop until everyone was done.” He looks down at his slippery fingers and deems it the right quantity of lubricant. “I’d still fuck you after, though.”

Brian doesn’t bother warming it up and goes for the full first finger straight away, admiring the easy slide as it glides into Trent’s body. He’s aware the whole prepping thing is fairly perfunctory at this point - Trent last bottomed a scarce two nights ago, and he likes a lot less thorough fingering than the average bear anyways - but Brian loves the way it makes him jerk sharply, his body clenching a little despite himself. He likes to think of it as building the anticipation.

“I’d go last,” he muses, circling the digit a little, “so that there’d be come leaking out every time I fucked in. You’d be so loose and open by then that it wouldn’t take any effort at all. Sore and used. Probably crying. But you’d still just have to lie there and take it, wouldn’t you, baby?”

A garbled sound emerges from the pillow region of the bed when Brian shoves the second finger in.

“I asked you a question,” he reprimands, because he’s feeling picky.

“Y-Yeah,” Trent rushes out as Brian briskly pushes his fingers in and out. “Yes, god, yeah, I’d. I’d let you do whatever you wanted, however you wanted me. You could, Brian, you _could_ —“ He moves a little, pushing his ass back, and Brian’s left hand comes up to grip Trent’s left hip. He withdraws his fingers and brushes his thumb over the skin there for a brief half-second, a wordless question, and Trent just frantically nods his head where it’s hanging down between his hunched shoulders. “Come on, come on, come _on_ —“

Brian is quick to grab the bottle again. It feels like heaven when he finally gets a hand on himself, even just to apply the necessary lubricant. On second thought, he wipes his hand on the sheets and takes a second to reach to his left and snatch the cigarettes and lighter, dropping them on the mattress beside them for easy access.

Trent doesn’t miss that either. His breathing flutters and he shudders a little, more flexing his hips than actually rolling them. “Please,” he says, voice sounding a little broken.

Brian shuffles forward, positioning himself right between Trent’s calves and lining up.

The act of pushing in is unceremonious. Brian leaves one hand splayed on Trent’s left hip as he guides himself in. He keeps going in one smooth thrust until he’s bottomed out, Trent trembling and huffing little breaths beneath him; he’s ridiculously hot and incredibly tight, but then again, he always is. It’s a little overwhelming. Brian’s a big fan of their recent, mutual decision to ditch the condoms.

“Please,” Trent repeats faintly.

At some point during the initial push, Brian’s eyes have slid closed. When he blinks them open and looks down over the arch of Trent’s spine anew - the bruises here and there from throwing himself around on stage, some new and some fading, the shy bumps of his vertebrae, the hint of his ribs as his chest expands and contracts - he thinks this might be quite high on his personal list of Beautiful Things. If Brian had it his way, Trent would probably be known as the eighth wonder if the world.

“ _Please_ ,” Trent says again. His voice comes out choked and ragged.

“Christ, you’re so fucking tight,” Brian grits out, wasting no time before starting into a quick rhythm. Trent’s legs twitch and his knees stretch a little wider. “Yeah? You like that, slut?”

 _Jesus._ That’s right out of some bootlegged ten-dollar-budget cheerleader porno.

It’s not his finest line, but Trent seems too far gone to even consider making fun of him for it right now. “Fuck,” he says, the word sounding punched out of him as Brian shoves in particularly hard. “ _Fuck_.” He says something else, but it’s muffled and incoherent.

Brian’s never been one of those obnoxious straight guys obsessed with watching his own cock during sex, but even he can take a second to admire the view from this position. The slide of bare skin is slick and pyretic, and there’s something particularly obscene about seeing the way Trent spreads his legs as wide as they can go given their position, subtly pushing back against every inch of Brian’s cock along with the rhythm of each thrust.

They really should take pictures someday.

Brian finally deems it about time and reaches for the cigarettes. He doesn’t stop the motion of his hips as he grabs the pack and picks four out, sticking the first between his lips as he discards the box and the other three on the sheets in favour of the lighter.

The second Trent hears the sound of him flicking the wheel to ignite the flame, he falters and his entire body seems to be wracked with a massive shiver, from bowed head to clenching toes. The way his muscles briefly flutter around Brian’s dick is downright delicious.

“Oh, fuck,” he immediately says, absolutely ruined. “Please. Please, Brian, I want— Please.”

Brian keeps thrusting; slower as he lights the cherry with a soft inhale, then holding the lit fag in his left hand and speeding back up again. He has no real intention of smoking it more than he has to, but figures he’ll let it burn a little so he can make Trent squirm while he waits for the pain. “Desperation is a good look on you, doll.”

Brian perseveres a little more, rough enough that Trent’s breath keeps stuttering where it’s coming in dogged pants from his open mouth. He waits until the cigarette in his left hand has burned itself down a bit, leaving a nice, fat pile of ash sitting at the tip.

He doesn’t really even think all that hard before he’s holding it above the expanse of Trent’s back and tapping the filter to dislodge the burnt material.

As soon as the crumbled cinders meet the skin of his lower spine, Trent tenses and lets out a low groan, hips thumping back. Brian reaches down with his unoccupied hand and uses his thumb to smear the little bit of ash into a dirty smudge against Trent’s skin. “You might just be the prettiest ashtray I’ve ever seen, baby.”

“Do it,” Trent says. “Brian, I want—“

“I don’t give a shit about what you want,” Brian tells him rather acrimoniously, even though that’s pretty much the exact opposite of the truth. He reaches out and shoves Trent’s head sharply down to further the point of the statement anyways, slamming his hips forward sharply. “I’ll do what _I_ want. You’re mine right now, you got that?”

Trent downright whimpers. He says something else, but his face is bowed so far into the sheets that Brian doesn’t catch it. Whatever it is, it’s definitely not any combination of ‘stop’ or ’don’t’ or ’slow down’, so he keeps going.

He pulls his left hand away from where it had been pressing down on the back of Trent’s skull. He briefly glances at the fag between his right forefingers, then across the canvas of Trent’s bare skin as he decides where to put it.

“Such a beautiful little skank for me,” Brian says, softer. “Such a good boy.”

His hand is deft and sure as he brings it down to the side of Trent’s upper left thigh, along the line of where the seam of his pants would be, and grinds the cigarette down.

The reaction is instantaneous. The second the burning end fuses with his bare skin, Trent shudders, clenches down and lets loose an incredibly loud paroxysm of curses.

Brian’s brain sort of short-circuits at the abrupt squeeze around his cock, but he manages to pull himself together enough to flick his eyelids open and keep going. “You like that, baby?” he asks, trying to cover up the frankly awed wonder with a dark, teasing tone as he twists the extinguished butt a little bit before pulling it off and flicking it aside.

Trent nods furiously where his face is practically mashed into the bedspread. “Jesus, come on, _again_ ,” he says, voice sounding a little slurred. “Fuck me like you mean it.” He’s sweating - they both are - and the glow of the lamplight glances off his bare skin beautifully.

Curious, Brian’s left hand lowers almost of its own accord, his bony thumb brushing across the small mark the fag left behind moments before. It just feels like a small, slightly-raised circle, but the contact makes Trent hiss a little and push his hips back, letting loose another string of expletives.

Brian’s already lighting the second cigarette. He continues to work his hips, but it’s less intense than when he’s really chasing his own pleasure; he’s still dead-set on doing this right for Trent, and there’s no room in his plan to include blowing his load prematurely. By the way things look, this isn’t going to last much longer for either of them, anyways.

Tucking the next cigarette between his lips, Brian takes a couple shallow puffs to burn it down faster. The taste of the smoke in his mouth is fairly gross, but he doesn’t cough - thank fuck - and it only takes a few drags before there’s another little heap of ash to add adjacent to the smear adorning Trent’s lower spine. The smell of cigarettes is already permeating the room, no doubt embedding itself into the sheets and carpet.

Brian’s mostly given up on coherent dirty talk by this point. The words coming out of his mouth have been reduced to a vague litany of Trent’s name, swears, nonsensical half-fantasies and variations of how much of a pretty little whore he is and how good he’s doing, but he’s not really even thinking as they tumble from his mouth.

Trent’s eating it up. By the time Brian presses the second cigarette to his flushed skin, he’s gasping raggedly between pleading words. This time, Brian brings the cherry down on the sensitive area on the inside of his right thigh with certainty. He has to reach around Trent’s body to get the right place, but as he presses it down, his knuckles brush against the hard length of Trent’s cock and Trent whines, right leg jerking. He sort of flinches and twists a little; maybe from the pain, or the barest of teasing contact, or maybe both.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” he gets out.

“Yeah, doll,” Brian says, tossing the butt aside. “Come on, two more and then maybe I’ll let you come.”

(It’s an act. Obviously he’s going to let Trent come; Brian’s about four seconds away from popping off himself, and if he holds out from touching Trent’s dick any longer, he might spontaneously develop an aneurysm. Honestly, the guy is just way too goddamn pretty to keep his hands off.)

It takes two tries to light the third cigarette. Once the cherry catches, Brian takes a few quick half-drags - he doesn’t really inhale, but more lets the smoke fall out of his mouth like some kind of poser - and wastes no time in pushing it down on the spot of skin the right side of Trent’s lower back, just above the slight swell of his ass.

The noise Trent makes is unholy. It’s also rather absurdly hot.

It’s not that Brian agreed to do this solely to placate Trent’s desires in the first place, but now that they’re actually in this position and rapidly careening towards the climax-to-end-all-climaxes, he’s definitely feeling decidedly more into it than he originally anticipated he would be at the start. 

He finds himself tossing the used fag aside and scrambling to light the fourth all in the same breath. Some part of him remains strangely, stubbornly determined to get Trent off first, but Jesus Christ, he’s seriously about to come, like, yesterday.

This time, as soon as he get the last cigarette going, he holds it between his left thumb and index finger in favour of reaching forward with his right hand to press it against the underside of Trent’s broad, heaving chest. “Up. C’mon, up.”

Trent pulls his face out of the bedding and pushes himself up onto his arms, letting Brian clumsily tug him upright until they’re kneeling back-to-front. It’s kind of a weird position that ends with them staring at the wall, but it also opens up the opportunity for Brian to comfortably wrap his hand around Trent’s cock and start jerking him off in earnest.

He keeps it rough and crude. In the absence of saliva, the only slide comes from where Trent’s leaking precome all over himself, but Brian keeps pumping and twisting him on the edge of a little too hard, just the way he likes. It takes all of about five seconds for Trent to be a half-sobbing mess but he still doesn’t dare touch himself; instead, he’s reached back a little and pressed his hands onto Brian’s thighs like a lifeline, hot palms slipping against the skin as they move together.

Brian’s kind of got a faceful of sweaty black hair, but he noses his way into the side of Trent’s neck and half-murmurs, “One more, baby.” It’s as much of a warning and a reassurance as it is a subtle check-in - _is this okay? do you want this?_

The way Trent’s dick jerks in his palm is answer enough. “Yeah,” he says. “Yes, please, just— Please,” he breaks off in a low, choked groan. He sounds close to tears. Brian’s fairly disappointed he can’t see the familiar, glassy-eyed look that’s definitely on his face right now.

The timing is everything. Brian waits until he hears one more halting _please_ , and then he decisively grinds the last cigarette down on the inside edge of Trent’s left hip bone.

Trent comes with a shocked-sounding noise that seems almost forced out of him, clenching and shuddering as he makes a mess of the sheets. Brian strokes him through it, lets the used butt fall aside and then splays both hands around Trent’s torso, pulling him close as he follows him over the edge with a mumbled curse.

Trent has gone boneless in his arms. He’s panting and limp, and only makes a faint noise of protest when Brian pulls out. He only clenches weakly when Brian ventures a cursory swipe of his fingers over the warm wetness dripping out of him, then gently manhandles Trent around until he’s sprawled out on his back. (He’s kind of laying directly on top of the mess of his own come, but whatever. Nobody cares. They’re both in serious need of a shower, anyways.)

“Holy fuck,” Trent finally says after a minute. He sounds dazed.

“Yeah,” Brian exhales a half-laugh, collapsing beside him and idly wiping his fingers on the sheets. They catch their breath for a second before he quietly asks, “You okay? Not too spacey?”

“Just a little,” Trent mumbles, blinking somewhat lethargically at the ceiling. “Not too much. I’m okay.” He swallows and wipes his forehead, pushing dirty, dyed-black hair out of his eyes. “That was… kind of perfect. Jesus.”

There’s another pause.

“Was this fucked up?” Brian wonders aloud.

Trent shrugs as best he can from his supine position. “Not more than anything else you do onstage.” His lips quirk up a little when he jokingly adds, “If you hadn’t noticed already, you’re kind of a freak.”

Brian snorts in quiet amusement. “Take a look at yourself first, asshole. I’m pretty sure we’re both equally fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Trent says slowly, with a hint of a genuine smile, “I think we are.”

Now is usually the part where they’d both clean up as fast as possible in order to crash before someone pounds on the door to wake them up, but for now Brian lets Trent drift off for a second. He’s not quite asleep but his eyes are closed, so it’s easy for Brian to look across the pillow and memorize the details of the afterglow; the slight hook of his nose, the curve of his shoulder, the residual flush still adorning his skin as the sweat dries. He feels a little victorious. A little proud, maybe. Perhaps even fond.

Brian momentarily allows himself soak in the feeling for a little while longer before reluctantly dragging himself off the bed to open the window and grab the first aid kit.

As he’s returning with the box of cleaning wipes, cream and band-aids, he picks the box of cigarettes up off the bed to toss them aside and catches sight of the warning in stark white letters adorning the bottom of the carton: _’SMOKING CAN CAUSE ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION’._

Ha.

 

 

+


End file.
